Whiskey and Water
by sickdays
Summary: "That's just the nature of the business," he murmured into my ear, "and if you don't understand that by now, you shouldn't even be here." An NXT rookie rises through the ranks. Sami Zayn/OC, Dean Ambrose/OC.
1. Heartbeat

Morning. 5 August, 2012.  
Las Vegas, NV.

It was the last morning in my old apartment. The whole place was completely bare, walls empty, feeling even emptier as the morning light streamed through the windows facing the Vegas Strip onto worn, carpeted floors.

All my earthly possessions sat, neatly stacked, in the center of the living room. I grabbed my backpack and my black duffle bag; the rest was following me to Orlando through some moving company I'd found online, and would arrive next week at my new place.

I surveyed what I was keeping in the mover's pile, prizing open a couple of boxes: mostly clothes, some of my bulkier wrestling gear, but also a couple of things I just couldn't let go of, old photos, tchotchkes, sentimental things which gave me an odd sort of comfort in their familiarity.

'I guess this is it.' I thought, taking a step back. I gripped my two bags tightly, feeling a pulse of fear run through me momentarily, and took a deep breath.

I took a final moment to survey my old apartment, realizing that I would deeply miss it. It was my sanctuary, my safe space, all while my life had been in complete chaos; while I'd lived here, I'd started at the Vegas Pro Academy, wrestled in LVW for a year, had my interviews at Stamford, and now I was on my way to developmental.

It felt like two lifetimes ago now, even if it was only a couple of years. The girl who'd lived here then was nothing like who I was now.

One last glance at the bare apartment. I suppressed the uncertainty and the fear bubbling in the pit of my stomach.

I opened the front door, slipped out, and locked the door, sliding the key under the doormat for the movers, releasing a shaky breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

* * *

Afternoon. 5 August, 2012.  
Orlando, FL.

I woke as I felt the plane shudder as it hit the tarmac, braking hard. This was the worst part, easily. The takeoff I could handle. Turbulence, no problem. Sleeping through plane rides had always come easily to me, but the landing was always , undoubtedly, the worst part. I squeezed my eyes shut and gripped the armrests as tight as possible, my knuckles turning white.

The trip to the airport had been uneventful, but leaving Vegas had been harder than I'd anticipated. Seeing the heat radiating from my surrogate city in the distance from McCarran airport had made it feel all the more real, and all the more terrifying. Now that we were finally landing in Orlando, that feeling was magnified tenfold.

The guy seated next to me let out a low chuckle, and gently nudged me in the ribs with an elbow.

"Bad flyer, huh?"

I turned to him with a grimace.

"Yeah. The landing's the worst part. That's when you're most likely to crash." I responded quietly.

He turned to face me, raising an eyebrow. He was a young guy, bearded with short auburn hair, dimples, clad in dark Ray-bans and wearing a baseball cap pulled low over his face. Still, I could tell he had kind of natural handsomeness that made me nearly uneasy.

"Uh. Well, statistically." I added lamely, pushing a lock of dark hair behind my ears. The plane slowed as we reached the gate, and I heard the gentle hum of the loudspeaker.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Orlando International Airport. Local time is 6:10, and the current outside temperature is 90 degrees.

He smiled, and leaned closer to me. "Looks like we made it."

I made a face, returning his grin. "Don't make fun!" I warned. "I'm a bad flyer. Always have been."

"I'm Sami." He offered his hand, leaning closer over the armrest to take mine.

"Esther." I responded. "Or Essie. Either one is fine."

Sami nodded, releasing his hand from mine, "So, Essie, what are you doing in Orlando? Visiting elderly relatives? Going to Disneyworld?"

Passengers were beginning to move towards the front of the plane as it emptied. I grabbed my backpack, checking for my wallet and cell phone.

"I actually just got a job here."

"Oh yeah? Doing what?"

"I'm a wrestler. Professional wrestler." I added hastily.

He paused for a moment, looking as if he was going to respond, but didn't speak.

"I signed with the WWE's developmental branch in Orlando. NXT?" I offered, seeing his impassive look.

"Huh." He said, quietly. "Never would have guessed. Know a couple guys who work there."

I let out a nervous chuckle, anticipating the standard response of 'hey, you know that stuff's fake, right?' accompanied by a shit-eating grin. "I've been wrestling for a few years. But WWE is really the big time for wrestlers, can't beat that pay grade. Or the notoriety, for that matter."

I could feel Sami's intense gaze on me behind his dark sunglasses as we exited the plane, him holding an army green backpack by the straps in one hand, and gripping a cell phone in the other. He strode towards the terminal, me still clutching my cream-colored Herschel Heritage backpack tightly and following slightly behind, my legs too short to match his stride. The silence between us was palpable. I decided to break it.

"So. What do you do then, Sami? I'm going to guess… firefighter. You've got a real…" I gestured up towards his face, "hunky calendar guy vibe going on. Anyone ever tell you that?"

He let out a laugh and his mouth quirked into a half grin. He was disarmingly handsome, I decided.

"No, not a firefighter." He looked me over appraisingly before continuing. "Wrestling, huh? I was always a fan of Hulk Hogan."

I made a face and wrinkled my nose. "Hulk Hogan?" I repeated. "Jeez, you're lucky I'm forgiving. So, what is it that you do?"

We had arrived at baggage claim. Sami paused for a moment before opening his mouth to respond, but before he could, an older lady barged between us and he stumbled back a step. He gave me a bemused look and I stifled a laugh.

Spotting my black duffel bag circling the conveyer belt I leant to grab it, but Sami ably lifted it before I could and set it down.

"So, Essie. How are you getting into town? Where are you even headed?"

I dug around in my bag for a moment, plucking out my phone and opening my email.

"It's an apartment building, downtown. Big glass thing. 101 South Eola Drive, apartment 707." I frowned. "Any idea where that is? This is the place the company hooked me up with. I'm not even sure where I'm going."

Sami gave me a little grin. "I'm headed in that direction too. I'll drop you off, my car's parked in the terminal lot."

"Works for me, I don't think I even have the money for a cab. Hey, don't you have another bag?"

"I travel light." He winked at me, gesturing towards his backpack and hefting my own black duffle bag easily.

I felt a slight flush rise around my cheeks. Was he flirting with me? Even so, it was nice to have a friend of sorts; any friends I had were still in Vegas, or even before that back in Silver Gate, and I definitely didn't know anyone in Orlando aside from the NXT administration staff I'd been in contact with through email and long, tedious phone calls.

We headed out of the airport, Sami carrying my black duffel in one hand, his own bag in the other, me still clinging to my backpack like it was a lifesaver.

* * *

Evening. 5 August, 2012.  
Home. Orlando, FL.

The apartment itself seemed way too big for one person. I had anticipated, and hoped, that I would live with other NXT rookies, but when I tentatively opened the front door using the key left with the concierge, it was empty. Furnished, but definitely empty of personal belongings.

Sami was waiting outside the apartment door, leant up against the wall, my duffle bag at his feet and typing furiously on his cell phone when I opened the door and joined him. He'd removed his dark sunglasses and baseball cap to reveal a disarmingly handsome face, with dark brown eyes and the lightest dusting of freckles.

"I feel like I don't know you well enough to just … say goodbye abruptly and never see you again," I began, "so I'm thinking we should do a round of questions. What do you think?" I peered up at him, leaning back against the adjacent doorframe to face him.

He chuckled, putting his phone back in his jeans pocket, and crossing his arms. "Sure. Me first."

"Shoot. Ask me anything you want."

"You're what, twenty, twenty-one?"

"Almost twenty-two. My birthday's in September. Born in '90. Why, how old are you?"

"A little bit older than you, kiddo. Born in '84."

I snorted a laugh. "Hardly. What's Sami short for?"

He let out a chuckle. "Really, that's your chosen question? It's not short for anything. My full name is Sami Zayn." He paused. "My turn. Why wrestling? Why not ... acting, or modelling, or you know, anything that wouldn't cause permanent brain injury?"

I took a breath, trying to decide where to begin.

"I grew up watching wrestling, I guess, like you," I waved my hand in his direction, "but was never a Hulk fan," I added pointedly. "I just love it. For me … it's the ideal combination of sports and showmanship, it's fun and it's ridiculous but it's something else entirely. There's nothing else like it."

I paused again for a moment, trying to find the right words. "And it's all I ever wanted to do. And it's all I could ever imagine myself doing. And I'm lucky enough to be here, when I know that people have spent half a lifetime trying to get to this point, just to be considered by the WWE. Because that's the end goal, for me."

Sami was looking pensively at me again, a slight frown on his features. He nodded at me slowly, arms crossed. "I get it."

"It also means I'm stronger than I look." I grinned up at him.

He held his hands up in mock defence. "Hey. We're all friends here!"

"OK, my turn. Do you live here? Or are you just following me here so you know where I live?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sami rolled his eyes. "Yes, I live in Orlando, I live in this neighbourhood, right around the block. Don't flatter yourself, I mean, you're cute, but you're not cute enough to stalk."

"Hey!" I said indignantly.

"I live on South Court Avenue, it's a few blocks west of here." He broke his gaze from mine and peered into the apartment. "Nice place. No car, though, I'm guessing?"

"Not right now. Remember how I said I just moved here?" I responded slowly, recalling how I'd ended up selling my car in Vegas, needing the money more than I needed the car at that point. It hadn't been a great year, financially; when I got my first pay check, it'd be first on my list.

"How were you planning on getting to your job?" He asked, grinning. "Where is it? Isn't it that facility over near the highway, pretty far east?"

"I think so... Walking?" I offered, tentatively.

Sami let out a laugh, and laughed for a good minute before relenting.

"Come on. I'm new here. You have to be nice to me." I pouted. "And you're my only friend so far." I added.

"Fine, I can drive you. I work over that way, anyway. No problem. Tomorrow morning?"

"Works for me, I have to be there for 9." There was a pause. "I should go get some sleep, I'm beat. Thanks, Sami, for the ride."

He raised an eyebrow. "It's only 7, kiddo, and you didn't even finish asking me questions. You don't want to go out, see the city?"

I thought for a moment, debating the intelligence of getting rip-roaring drunk the night before my new dream job.

"Maybe not tonight, Sami. How about tomorrow? You know, celebrating my first day?"

He smiled, replied in the affirmative and gave me a little pat on the shoulder before grabbing his backpack and turning towards the elevator.

"Wait." I reached for him suddenly, remembering. "Put your number in here, I wanna be able to contact you, only-friend-I-have." I thrust my phone awkwardly into his hand, my fingers sliding over his warm palm. Sami punched in his number and handed my phone back to me.

"Sounds good. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow, Essie."

"Yeah. Okay." I replied quietly to his retreating form, suddenly feeling inexplicably nervous. Picking up my duffle bag, I pulled open the front door again and headed inside.

The apartment itself was a nice size, two bedrooms and a long bank of windows opposite the front door. The main room had the kitchen, a compact, modern setup, and a gigantic sofa and tv took up most of the living room space. The bedrooms sat on either side to the living room, both with double beds and ensuite bathrooms. It all seemed slightly too large for one person.

I hauled my bag into the larger of the two bedrooms, depositing it on the bed and rummaging through it for a towel, my overflowing bag of toiletries, and PJs . Wandering over to the bathroom, I stripped as I went before turning on the shower, and glanced at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. I looked tired as anything, my eyes slightly red-rimmed and dark circles underneath my dark brown eyes, my hair falling out of its ponytail.

After giving myself the longest, deepest clean imaginable, I crawled into bed, pulling the covers over my head and letting the darkness fold over me.

* * *

Morning. 6 August, 2012.  
Orlando, FL.

By the time 8am rolled around, I had been restlessly waiting for Sami for at least 30 minutes, clinging to my backpack outside the apartment building and nervously pacing.

The excitement had been steadily building since 5am, when I'd woken, and unable to lay in bed, I set to unpacking, rummaging through the house, and fixing myself breakfast from the fully-stocked kitchen cupboards while responding to emails.

I dressed, opting for a short, light grey skater dress and clean black flats, setting aside gym clothes and my old LVW wrestling gear to take with me in my backpack. My hair was longer than I'd ever kept it, the dark brown length reaching to the crux of my elbows; I tied it back into a neat ponytail, and applied makeup in the usual way I did it, foundation, some eye makeup, lipbalm.

The routine of getting ready was assuaging my fears, in the same way as when I got into ring gear and did final stretches before entering the ring: the physical actions felt meditative, purposeful. I wasn't sure what the first day would involve, but I anticipated a mixture of meetings, and athletic tryouts not unlike the ones I'd undertaken in Stamford after I first applied to the company.

I was ready. That was the mantra I repeated to myself, but felt the underlying fear dwell, barely repressed, roiling in a sea of 'what-if's', which I chose to ignore.

At 8am, I heard a horn at the corner of the street, and saw a fancy black sedan idling, Sami's face quirked into a smile behind the wheel. I approached the car as he hopped out, handing me a Starbucks cup of what appeared to be a latte. I let out a low whistle.

"Sweet ride, Zayn." I noted, throwing my bag into the backseat and lowering myself into the front, and taking a long sip of the latte.

"You know, I'd call you by your last name too but I'm not even sure what it is." Looking momentarily alarmed, he added, "I'm not so sure I should even be letting you in my 'sweet ride', Essie!"

"Ensley."

"Ensley? Essie Ensley? Kind of a mouthful, don't you think?"

I deposited the cup in the holder, buckled my seatbelt, and turned towards him. "You don't know the half of it, most of my family have a first name beginning with E and the surname 'Ensley'. It's annoying. My parents were _sadists_."

He laughed and started the car, heading towards the highway. "Where's your family now? They coming to visit any time soon?"

I felt the familiar rush of sadness, and a strange sort of shame, thinking about everything that had happened between myself and them, and remembering all that had been said before I'd left Montana. "No." I responded curtly.

"Forget I mentioned it." He murmured, turning his focus to the road.

"Can I turn on some music?" I asked, gesturing towards his iPod.

"Go nuts."

I scrolled through his music before finding a song I figured we could both appreciate, rolling down the window to let in a blast of the blistering Orlando summer heat, tamping down the nerves in my stomach and trying to ignore the little glances Sami kept shooting me.

* * *

Morning. 6 August, 2012.  
Winter Park, FL.

The NXT performance centre was an odd purgatory. Gigantic, freezing, and packed with people just idling, milling around, seemingly waiting for something.

My fear was reaching a zenith, my arms folded tightly across my chest and in what I hoped was a nonchalant stance, I stood at the back of the main hall, observing the people chatting animatedly with one another. As far as I knew, NXT was relatively recent incarnation; how was it that everyone already knew each other?

I started when I felt a hand brush my shoulder, jerking around to see Sami, eyebrows raised, a worried look in his eyes.

"What the fuck, Sami?"

He tufted a hand through his hair, looking nervous. "I realize its now it's reached an awkwardly long time to tell you, but I..." He paused for a moment. "I'm also a wrestler. I wrestled independently for years, mostly with Ring of Honor, and in Japan." He looked so nervous I almost felt bad.

"That's fine, Sami, you could have just told me. You didn't have to make it awkward, at all. What, did you circle the block a couple times before deciding to join me, huh?" I grinned, poking him in the arm. I suddenly felt glad that at least I had a kind-of friend with me today.

He let out a nervous laugh. "Something like that, yeah."

The bustling noise in the center lulled to a pause, and I saw a chubby, older man I knew to be Bill Demott standing on the edge of one of the three rings in the room, gripping the ropes.

His eyes flickered over the masses grouped around, pausing on Sami, before beginning to talk.

"Firstly, welcome to NXT. I'm going to make this brief so we can all get started, I know you're all itching to get going. I am the head coach, Bill Demott. For a lot of you, this is the first day, and you are the fresh meat. I know you've been through a lot to get here, but this is only the _beginning_." An almost-sadistic smile spread on his pudgy features as he continued. "We'll be holding meetings all morning, doing ring work, and that'll be our schedule for this week. Next week will be different. Anyone with specific concerns can speak to the office. Any questions?"

Silence. I gazed around at the assembled group, searching for any familiar faces from Vegas Pro or LVW.

"Good." Demott's round face settled into a slight frown. "We won't be separating by gender, just last names. A through H to ring one. I through P to ring two. Q through Z to ring three. If you're not dressed for ring work, locker rooms are at the back of the building, go now." The crowd began to disperse, and the animated chattering resumed.

Sami and I were going to be separated, I guess. I released a shaky breath.

I gave Sami a tight smile. "See you later, Zayn."

He leaned in close enough that I could feel his warm breath on my ear. "It's going to be fine. Don't be nervous." Sami leaned back slightly to face me, lightly gripping my upper arms, and I could see tiny golden flecks hidden in his warm brown eyes.

"Yeah. Yeah." I repeated. "It's going to be fine. Just first day nerves, you know."

He grinned and I grabbed my backpack, heading towards the locker room, lost in a throng of chattering people.

* * *

Dressed in my Nike shorts, and a long muscle tank, I jogged towards ring one. Gathered around the ring stood about twenty other young wrestlers, none of whom I recognized. The trainer, who I mercifully recognized as Billy Gunn, stood in the centre, appraising us as we clustered around the ring apron.

"We're running the ropes this morning, taking bumps, and doing some basic moves. I know a few of you from FCW, so welcome to the new regime." He nodded towards a few in the group, who nodded back, looking pleased.

We ran the ropes for a half hour, backs stinging. Back bumps followed, exacerbating the bite from running the ropes. By the time an hour had rolled by, I was damp with sweat, my shorts clinging tightly and my top bunched around my waist.

Gunn consulted his clipboard, looking pensively at what appeared to be a list of names and nodding to himself.

"Okay. Next we're doing some basic moves you should all be familiar with. Let's start with Ensley, Esther." He hummed to himself for a moment, meeting his eyes with mine. "And you can start with Ambrose, Dean." He dropped the clipboard to his side, and settled back against one of the ring posts, gesturing for us to come up.

I rolled my shoulders back, and eased myself up on to the apron. I felt good. Landing moves and taking bumps against a competitor; this was something I knew. I had no doubt that I could impress Gunn, Demott, and any other NXT personnel. Only four years of actual wrestling training and experience, but a previous lifetime of rigorous gymnastics and track had left me in the best shape of my life.

Clambering over the second rope, my eyes met with a guy a good six inches taller than me, dark blue eyes framed by a messy crop of dark blonde hair.

His eyes raked up and down my frame, and he looked momentarily confused, making a face at Gunn. "Should I be going against a girl?"

Gunn gave him a tight smile and nodded. "Dean, you're the vet here. I want you to hit Ensley with a hip toss, transition into an arm drag. Go."

We locked up, his warm hands gripping the back of my neck beneath my ponytail, mine fisted into his hair. I felt the ghost of a laugh brush across my face and lifted my eyes to meet with his. Ambrose's face was so, so close to mine; his teeth were bared in a slight smile, and his eyes predatory. I felt a shiver of fear bristle across my skin.

He manoeuvred me into position, throwing me hard against the mat. The sting of the ropes from earlier blossomed into a frisson of pain. I leapt up, ready for the arm drag. Two feinted hits, and Ambrose hit me with a perfect arm drag, my back smacking against the mat hard. I glanced up to see Ambrose's intense, brightly-shining blue eyes, bearing down behind a haloed curtain of dirty blonde hair.

Gunn smiled from his corner, looking pleased.

"Good." He paused to scribble something down on his notepad, before dismissing the pair of us.

I clambered down into my original spot outside the apron, cheeks flushed, feeling odd. Ambrose's eyes met with mine from his spot across the ring, and I saw a ghost of the predatory smile I'd seen earlier flash across his face, and my responsive, accompanying shiver of fear rippled back.

* * *

Late Afternoon. 6 August, 2012.  
Winter Park, FL.

Later, I headed towards the office, after being summoned by flustered-looking employee. Busy day, it seemed, and not just for me. I followed the posted signage along yellow concrete walls, wondering whether I should get dressed back into my clean, dry pedestrian clothing and maybe act professional, or rock up in my sweaty gear. I decided on the latter.

I knocked slowly on the door marked 'Head Office', resting my warm, damp face against the cool concrete wall for a moment. The door burst open, showing a cluster of NXT personnel gathered around a large meeting table.

"Come in, come in." I recognized the face holding the door open as belonging to Gerald Brisco, the recruiter I had spoken with extensively before I had signed my contract, and the others as varying other recruiters, talent managers and trainers.

"It's good to see you, Esther. Come have a seat at the end there, we're just looking over some details about your role here, and what we're going to do with your character."

I nodded mutely, and settled into one of the high-backed chairs at the end of the table, resting my hands on my thighs.

"So," Brisco began, shuffling papers around on the desk and spreading out what appeared to be handwritten notes, official looking documents, photos of me wrestling at LVW, and the headshots and full body photographs that had been taken at Stamford at my tryout. "We like what we hear about you. Mr. Gunn says you're well-familiar with the ring, a good worker, and you have the look we like." He lifted his gaze from the photos and smiled briefly at me.

"Well. Thank you." I nodded my head deferentially.

"We have a taped show in about a month that we want you on, and we're working on getting you in a very hot storyline. You have the in-ring experience, we just need to make some minor adjustments to persona and name, you know." Brisco waved a hand over the photos. "All that pesky detail stuff."

"We're thinking: in ring name should be something feisty, and we're going to have you playing up a real… cocky persona." Chimed in one of the men clustered around the table, ostensibly one of the talent development personnel. "We're going to start you off as a heel, a strong, take-no-prisoners… catty type of wrestler." He added, quickly. Internally, I was wondering how much they could skirt around the term 'bitchy' using other words.

"Exactly," nodded Brisco, "We like the name Ivy. Something like... Ivy Adams. Thoughts?"

I smiled nervously back at the clustered group. "I like it." I offered, thinking that even if I didn't, I probably wouldn't say anything anyway.

"Great. And in terms of billing you…" He stopped to glance over my file, "Creative is thinking a New England, prep-school kind of girl vibe. So, Greenwich, Connecticut it is. It all goes well with your facial features, and the whole pale, dark hair, dark eyes package. Everything sound good to you, Esther?"

"Yeah," I nodded, glancing around the room at the dozens of eyes fixated on me.

"Good, glad to have that sorted. Ring gear, all of that stuff is handled by our seamstress, Angela. We're going to do a shorts and criss-cross shirt look for you, probably in a dark-blue, black color scheme." He looked up at me again, observing me. "That's it for now, and I think everyone is done for today. You can head home, or stay to work out if you want. Gym's in the building out behind the main performance centre."

"Okay. Thank you, I'm really looking forward to working with you all." I gave the assembled group a brief smile before retreating to the locker room.

Under the too-hot showerhead of the women's locker room, I slumped slightly against the back wall, feeling a deep ache in my muscles but a good lessening of the fear that'd been dogging me for the past few days, and just the smallest surge of hope replacing it. They had actual, real plans for me. Fingers crossed I wasn't going to be jobbed out and then left by the wayside.

Dressing slowly back into my grey dress and flats, I reapplied my slightly sweat-smudged makeup, redid my hair, and checked my phone. I had 4 missed calls from Sami, and a whole lot of texts from numbers I didn't recognize. Scrolling through them, I noted that Sami had ostensibly started a group text with some of the other NXT rookies, and was trying to organize a group event for the evening.

Perusing the previous conversation, I added the numbers of those who had introduced themselves to me during our training session, and sent off a quick text to Sami, asking where he was. He responded nearly immediately, informing me that he was waiting outside the building, and I should hurry up lest I wanted to walk back to downtown. He accompanied this with a smiling devil emoji and I snorted a laugh.

I hurried out of the building, trying to catch a glimpse of Sami in the lot, greeting the numerous other wrestlers and NXT personnel as they milled around the front of the building.

I spotted him, his back to me and leaning on his car, deep in conversation with someone I couldn't see. Hefting my bag to my shoulder, I hurried over.

"Sami." I stated, mock-irritated. "Please don't threaten to leave me stranded."

He grinned down at me, cheeks dimpling, his arms folded neatly across his chest. "Wouldn't dream of it, Essie." He gestured towards the guy he was speaking with, a tanned guy with dark eyes, and dark hair, a shock of bleach blonde running through the side of it. "This is Seth Rollins. He was FCW champ, we know each other from way back, Ring of Honor, and so on."

Seth held out a hand which I grasped firmly. "Esther Ensley. Nice to meet you." I stopped for a moment, suddenly remembering. "Oh. Or, 'Ivy Adams', that's what they're going to be calling me now, I guess."

Sami gave me a bemused smile and grimaced. "Really? It's not horrible, but I prefer Essie. Ivy doesn't suit you at all." Seth snorted with laughter.

"Everyone's going to call you Ivy now, it's easier. Kayfabe and all that." Seth added.

"Makes sense," I nodded, turning to Sami. "So, where are we going tonight? How familiar are you with the city?"

"I've been back and forth here for months, trying to work out a developmental deal with these guys, so yeah, I know the city pretty well," he replied, "but I haven't decided where we should go yet."

"Well, I need to go home and get ready, so you wanna meet there, or ...?"

"Actually," Seth gave Sami a quick, knowing glance before continuing, "we thought we could have a get-together at yours. You know, just a small hangout, check out what digs they gave you." He flashed me a winning smile and I felt slightly disarmed.

"Oh, sure," I replied quickly, ever the appeaser, "come over whenever. 101 South Eola Drive, apartment 707." I watched as Seth punched the address into his phone, and realized with dawning horror that he had sent it to the group chat.

"Great! See you at ten or something, _Ivy_." Seth grinned, sounding out my new name.

* * *

Evening. 6 August, 2012.  
Home. Orlando, FL.

The windows were open, the music was blasting, and I was already three sheets to the wind. I'd spent the last thirty minutes comparing accents with Paige, really drawling out my faint Montana brogue and causing her to erupt in adorable fits of laughter, her running commentary making me laugh so hard my sides hurt.

I stood, shakily, and informed her I was going to the kitchen for a refill. She responded by thrusting her empty cup in my hand. Holding our red cups, I observed my apartment, willing the room to stop gently swaying. It was fully packed now, despite it being barely 11pm, but I couldn't see Sami or Seth anywhere, nor anyone I knew. I was suddenly glad that sober-me had remembered to lock my bedroom door. I could see people out on my balcony, incoherently cheering something, and a couple tucked away in the corner amidst the chaos furiously making out.

I made my way over towards the kitchen, dodging several unfamiliar guys viciously roughhousing and loudly laughing, my eyes fixed on my destination before I suddenly collided with someone very solid and very warm.

I gazed up, meeting the eyes of Dean Ambrose. Smiling down at me, I noticed the light hit him from behind in a way that made him almost glow, his dark blonde hair alight. He leant towards me, gripping the cups I clutched in one hand, laying his fingers over mine, gently prizing the cups from my hand.

"Do you really think you should be drinking?" He asked quietly, his voice close to my ear and audible above the din of the music, but with a tone of sober authority. I was close enough that I could smell him; he smelled like mint, mixed with tobacco and soap. Not altogether unpleasant.

"Who died and made _you_ the party … police." I retorted slowly, frowning, stumbling over the words.

He let out a low laugh and moved back slightly, observing me.

"Wow. I guess you are pretty drunk. I was messing with you, Esther."

"It's Ivy. It's Ivy now." I glared at him, trying to ignore how strangely bewitching he looked.

He held up his hands in mock defense. "Okay, _Ivy_."

I could feel my drunk brain desperately itching to reach out and touch his face, to see if maybe the stubble dotted along his jawline felt as rough as it looked, imagining it probably felt quite soft. I resisted, opting to studiously avoid looking at his face.

"You know, this is my apartment." I commented in a whisper, leaning forward conspiratorially towards his ear, still avoiding looking directly at him.

"Is that so." He whispered in return, his breath ghosting warmly against the strands of hair near my ear. I felt him wrap a finger around a full lock of my hair, gripping it, and gently tugging it. I resisted a groan.

Whatever the hell was going on between us came to a grinding halt as I was barrelled forward by a gigantic force from behind.

"IVY! IVY." Paige yelled in my ear, having sprung onto my back in a drunken semblance of a piggy back, clinging wildly, trying not to fall. "Where's my bevy, Ivy?"

"Oh god." I groaned, trying to hoist her legs properly onto my hips so as to support her, before falling and crashing to my knees, sending her sailing forward.

I sunk to the carpeted floor, rolling over into a ball, and closed my eyes. Sleep would be good. Here was as good a place as any. I felt a nudge on my arm, and cracked open my eyes, seeing Paige poking me with her dirty sneaker, giggling furiously.

I rolled away, staggering to my feet, glancing around for Ambrose. He was several feet away, watching all of this unfold with a smirk painted across his smug face.

"You." I pointed at him, scowling. "You can be quiet."

I hoisted Paige to her feet, her fingers clinging desperately to my arms. "Oh god, Ivy. I'm wasted." She murmured, resting her head against my shoulder. "Can I sleep in your bed?" Her eyes gazed balefully at me. "I need to sleep this off."

"Sure." I smiled, patting her head gently in a hopefully-soothing action and leading her towards my room, managing to unlock it after a few tries. I moved towards the bed, pulling back the soft white sheets and turning to Paige, finding her already in a partial state of undress, trying to pull her way out of her jeans.

"Come here." I said, attempting to be as sober and in-charge as possible. "Get in." I gestured towards the bed. She flopped down face first, and I yanked off her jeans as she clambered forward towards the headboard and sunk under the covers.

"Thank you, Ivy." She muttered from somewhere in the depths of the blankets.

I turned to leave, stepping carefully over her piles of clothes. Glancing up I saw Ambrose, leaning against the wall inside my room, observing. At some point he must have shucked the leather jacket and was now just clad in a plain white t-shirt and rumpled jeans.

"Don't mind me. Just wanted to see the off-limits part of your apartment." He was idly flicking his fingers back and forth along his palm, legs crossed. He glanced around the room pensively before moving towards my walk-in wardrobe, wandering inside and exaggeratedly fingering through the clothing I'd hung up there the previous day.

"Nice." He said with a raised eyebrow, gesturing towards a short black lace dress I rarely wore. I flushed.

"Okay. Enough fun. Out, please." I said, following him in and attempting to herd him backwards towards the door with my hands placed on either side of his hips. Still feeling very drunk, the words came out far less authoritative than I'd hoped.

Ambrose gripped both wrists holding him, tugging me towards him. I was very close to him now, and could feel the intense heat radiating off his body and his heart beating steadily, my head close to his chest, my arms held firmly.

He dropped my arms, gazing down at me, and moved his hand up to grip my chin, turning my head towards him.

I closed my eyes, anticipating, hoping, my drunken brain completely scrambled and overwhelmed.

I felt his breath brush across my lips, and settle against my ear again.

"You smell like a brewery." He murmured in my ear.

I felt him release my chin, and slowly opened my eyes; he was standing by the doorway to the closet, that infuriating smirk plastered across his face. He rubbed his chin with one hand, appraising me fully with his eyes before shaking his head and smiling that predator-like grin at me.

* * *

AN: I've had this sitting in my unfinished pile for eons and finally decided to get going on it. Most of it is already planned c: looking for a beta, especially one familiar with wrestling &amp; someone who likes het pairings. Please, please message me if that's something you could do.


	2. Sorta Hoping That You'd Stay

Late Afternoon. 31 August, 2012.  
Winter Park, FL.

"Again."

Paige and I met eyes across the ring. I took quick steps in her direction, gripped her wrist, and sent her forward into the ropes, meeting her with a spinning heel kick. She laid out, I pinned her for the imaginary three-count.

Both of us stood up slowly. We had been at this for hours. The sweat was dripping down both of us in rivulets, both our shirts were drenched at the back, my hair was sticking to my face, and my lungs were burning.

"Better."

I swiped a hand across my forehead and leaned forward, my hands on my thighs. Peering down at Demott, I tried my best not to scowl.

"How was that?"

"That'll do for now. Good work, ladies. Ivy, if you have a moment?"

Paige gave me a quick side hug, patting my head with her sticky hand. "Good work today Ive. Most fun I've had in ages!" She grinned.

I slid out of the ring under the bottom rope, dusting my hands off on my leggings.

Bill was clutching a clipboard, perusing pages of notes. He looked over at me, and gave me a quick smile.

"Great work today. You know, I try not to praise too freely. Makes people think they're too good…" He paused. "But you're really looking great, more than ready. You and Paige work well together." He licked a finger and flicked through the pages of notes clipped to the board. "Your debut is on the Tuesday taping, and looks like everything is finally sorted. TitanTron, entrance music, ring gear. If you've still got questions, ask the office." He nodded and strode off in the direction of the offices without a backward glance.

I desperately needed a shower; my sweat was drying and I was freezing, pinpricks of goosepimples rippled across my skin. Gathering my belongings, I scooped up my phone and checked for messages, skimming the group text we'd all been participating in since I arrived, thousands of messages long by this point.

As per usual, it was filled with bickering. Seth and Sami in particular, arguing back and forth about music, Paige with the occasional interruption about who was the best post-hardcore band ever, Breeze with page-long rants about the lighting in the performance centre, and Enzo chiming in regularly with updated photos of his hair. I sighed, pocketing my phone and heading towards the women's locker room.

Paige and the other ladies were nowhere to be seen, and the performance center was gradually emptying out for the day, but the silence was very welcome. Sluicing off the sweat in a too-hot shower improved my mood drastically, and by the time I was dressed in a clean pair of short cut-offs and a ringer tee, I wasn't even irritated to see a familiar face half-hidden, peering around the hallway door.

"How long have you been standing there?" I shook my head. "Actually don't answer that. I think I'd rather not know."

Ambrose appeared fully as he moved out from behind the frame, closing it firmly behind him.

"Only a second. Scout's honour." He held up two fingers, a crooked grin on his lips. There was an awkward pause before he continued.

"Have you been avoiding me?" He asked, frowning.

"No. Well. Not exactly. It's just been busy. You know how it is." I dragged a towel over my head, shaking out the water from my shower.

"Yeah. Same line of work, you know…" He chuckled, almost sounding nervous, as if Ambrose could ever seem actually uneasy. "We just haven't spoken in a while. Heard you were in here."

I turned to face him fully, shaking out the residual water from my hair. "Ambrose. Something you wanted? Or did you just want to watch me put on makeup?"

"No, just wanted to talk about the whole storyline thing."

"Storyline thing?" I queried, pulling my makeup bag out of my backpack and moving towards the mirrors.

"For next week?" He was leaning up against the wall, watching me curiously.

"Why? It's Paige and I, how are you involved?" I applied my mascara slowly, trying to avoid making eye contact with him in the mirror.

"What, you didn't get the script adjustments?" He looked momentarily confused, moving to observe me from the side.

"No… what script adjustments?" I finished applying lip balm, and dropped it back into my makeup bag. "Do you have an updated copy of the script? Do you know what they changed?"

He produced a crumpled copy, tucked round the back of his jeans. I flicked it open, trying to find the relevant page but finding it gone, replaced with a Tag Team Match between the Wyatts and British Ambition.

Confused, I looked up at his expectant face. "I'm not on this taping?" I asked, bewildered. "Demott's been running Paige and I through drills for the past month, we have the match figured out. I'm going over, third match of the night."

"Not any more, you aren't." He responded, with a shrug. "Flip to the back, you've been moved."

I did as he suggested, slowly reading through the last match of the night.

**Dean Ambrose v. Seth Rollins w/Ivy Adams**

I felt the color drain from my face and looked up at his face, seeing it set in a serious, intense gaze, but with an underlying … something? I couldn't read him at all.

"What the fuck." I said quietly. "'With'? I don't even get to wrestle?"

Ambrose looked at me with a raised eyebrow. "Read on," he suggested.

The match was for the NXT title, currently held by Seth; 20 minutes long, during most of which I'd be waiting outside the ring. The finish would involve me climbing on to the ring apron, "interfering" while the ref wasn't paying attention, and Rollins hitting Ambrose with his finisher for the win. Paige's music would hit, she'd storm the ring and lay a beatdown on me, suggesting some less-than-flattering things about my character and challenging me for next week.

Ambrose saw that I had stopped reading. "Looks you'll have your proper first match with Paige next week, then."

I made a face. "I guess so."

This was my debut? As a valet during the title match? I had been a lifetime fan of heels, Stone Cold being my all-time favourite. But debuting as a valet when I'd spent years honing my skills seemed way too generic of a beginning and was disappointingly trite. Not that it was bad being paired with Rollins; I loved the guy.

"Why'd this all get changed?" I asked, hoping for any clues as to why they'd switched it all up.

He cleared his throat, tapping his fist into his palm. "No clue." He offered. "Seemed like a last minute thing to me."

I let out a sigh.

"Have you spoken with Rollins? I should talk to him, we only have a couple days to do run-throughs. It's Friday, this tapes on Tuesday."

Ambrose looked thoughtful. "He's in the locker room. If you're free now, we should practice. Where's Paige?" He asked, looking around.

"She left not that long ago. If she's as tired as me, she probably went home to bed and I'm not sure I want to drag her back out here." I sighed, carding a hand through my damp hair.

"Well, from what I'm hearing you two have the match part sorted, just gotta get the beatdown part done. You know, make sure it looks good. All of us can come in tomorrow, but we should go over the basics right now while the three of us are here."

Ambrose made to leave the locker room. I leaned forward to grab him by the forearm.

"How is that you knew about this and I didn't?" I asked quickly, wondering.

"Last minute changes. The office might still be open if you wanna go talk to them." He made a face. "Although, I doubt it. Friday night and all. I just saw Demott leaving, everyone else has probably gone too."

I released his arm, still gazing at his face. Honestly, I was mostly worried they were going to remove me from the schedule entirely; the overarching feeling was that I had to repeatedly earn my place here before I could even start making demands.

"No, no, it's fine. I mean, mine and Paige's match will just be next week, right?"

"Right." That little feral grin reappeared. "So, tomorrow good for you to run this through?"

Saturday? I felt a tinge of disappointment. I'd had it planned for the past few weeks that I'd finally get my car situation sorted; my paycheck had come through and I'd get the freedom to drive myself instead of relying on everyone else.

"Had plans?" He nudged me, looking curious.

"I was supposed to finally get my car situation fixed. I've been riding with Sami for the past month and I think he's probably sick of me by now."

"Sick of you?" Ambrose gave a little chuckle. "I doubt that."

"Still. I had the car all picked out and everything." I replied, pouting slightly.

He looked thoughtful. "What do you say, after we've run through the moveset and everything looks good, I can give you a ride to a dealership. Help you pick out a car and everything."

"Actually, that'd be pretty great. Thank you." I replied, feeling immediately grateful.

"Good," he smiled, "alright, lets get this started." Ambrose slipped out of the room, presumably into the men's locker room to grab Seth and change into his gear.

I decided to keep my clean civilian clothes on, considering my role in this match was limited to well-timed interference, but took a moment to pack up all my gear and finish applying makeup, quickly braiding my long hair to keep it out of my face.

Heading out to the ring, I saw Ambrose and Seth deep in discussion in the centre of the main ring. Rollins was looking confused, and shot me a strange glance as I approached, moving away from Ambrose to lean against one of the ring posts. Ambrose waved me over.

"Seth and have the match already figured out, we're just going to run it like we originally planned. All we need is to get the timing right for your role. Right now, we'll start where your part starts, no need to run the whole match."

Ambrose moved towards me, gesturing towards the space in front of me.

"Ivy. Stand slightly closer so it's easier to jump up in time. I'm going to hit Seth with a lariat, and then run back towards the ropes to get momentum," he gestured to the ropes directly in front of me.

I nodded, observing.

"Once I've hit Seth, I want you to get on the apron, and when I start to move back to get that momentum off the ropes, you grab me, and hold me back. Seth will get a few good kicks in, I'll land forward, and he'll hit the curb stomp and get the three count. Sound good?"

I nodded again, mentally running through the motions.

We tried it several times, getting the timing right so when Ambrose hit the ropes a second time I could grip his arms, twining them into the second rope, allowing Seth to land kicks before hitting the curb stomp.

Exhausted beyond measure an hour in, I informed the pair that I was going home, quickly texting Sami to ask if he was still around and gathering my gear to leave. Sami responded almost immediately.

_I thought you were home?_

_No, still at the performance centre. Don't worry about me, I can get a taxi home._

I headed out towards the main exit, slinging my backpack over my shoulders. Ambrose hopped down off the ring apron to intercept me.

"If you wait 10 minutes, I can give you a ride home," he said, wiping his sweaty brow with the hem of his shirt.

"Yeah, that would be amazing," I smiled gratefully.

Gathering his gym bag, I followed him out into the lot, waving a goodbye to Seth who was watching us with something like a smirk on his face.

Out in the lot Ambrose unlocked his truck, a black Chevy Silverado.

I clambered up into the passenger seat, shoving my backpack in the footwell and settling back with a sigh, shutting my eyes, and feeling exhaustion roll over me. Ambrose slid in, slamming his door and starting the engine.

"101 South Eola, right?" He asked, pulling out of the lot.

"Yeah, that's it," realizing he probably remembered my address from when he'd attended my house party, trying to repress the awkward memory of our encounter in my closet.

Silence permeated the truck, not that I minded. Sami and I often chatted extensively when we drove to and from work about absolutely everything, but it was the sort of relationship we had; Sami was my best friend. I barely trusted Ambrose, and our friendship seemed based partly on the strange attraction I felt towards him, and partly on his inability to leave me alone. Every move of his felt calculated, predetermined, a sort of creepy kismet.

He coughed, breaking the silence. "So. Any family coming up for your debut?"

"Nope." I replied quietly, eyes still closed.

"I heard you're from Montana."

"You heard right. Silver Gate."

"Never heard of it. Never been to Montana, actually."

I laughed, imagining city-boy Ambrose visiting my hometown of 100 people and _hating _it.

"It's a shithole. Not worth visiting," I responded, turning towards him, "I haven't been back in years."

"So I heard. You were living in Vegas, right? I always wanted to live there."

"Yeah, past four years or so. I saved my money in high school, enough to move, and rocked up in Vegas a month after my eighteenth." I snorted a laugh. "It was a pretty reckless move, looking back. I'd never even visited the place. I just thought it seemed like the kind of place someone could get professional wrestling training."

Ambrose nodded thoughtfully, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.

"LVW, right?"

"Yeah…" I responded slowly, feeling confused; pretty sure I never divulged any of that information to him. "How'd you know that?"

Ambrose chuckled. "Pretty common knowledge."

"Is that so." I could feel the fake leather sticking to my exposed thighs uncomfortably. As soon as this ride was over, the better. I spotted my apartment building looming up in the distance.

"Anywhere round here is fine." I said, gesturing to the sidewalk outside my building, and quickly opening the door and hopping down once he'd pulled to a stop.

He frowned down at me from the driver's seat. "I can pick you up tomorrow, I don't think Sami is going in."

"That works for me, send me a text when you're nearby. It's on your route, right?"

"Sure, yeah. See you tomorrow, Ivy." He gave me a wide grin, the one that showed all his perfect white teeth.

* * *

Afternoon. 1 September, 2012.  
Winter Park, FL.

"No, no, no. Ivy's got to let go of Dean once Seth hits his finisher, move into the ring, maybe do a little trash talk," Paige did a couple of obscene hand gestures towards where the crowd would be, "and then my music's going to hit." She took me by the upper arms, manoeuvring me to face where the entrance ramp would be. "She turns around, I run in, Lou Thesz Press. Easy."

Ambrose and Rollins nodded.

"That'll work," said Rollins thoughtfully. "And if you ladies have your beatdown all figured out then I think we're done for the day. We can finalize it all on Monday." He scooted down out of the ring, heading towards the locker room.

"Great!" Enthused Paige, clapping her hands. "Although, I'm looking way more forwards to our match next week," she added, in an undertone.

"Me too." I replied, with a frown. This wasn't her debut; she'd already made her mark in a tag team match with three other wrestlers.

"Well, catch you Monday, Ive." She smiled, hopping down onto the mat and giving a little wave.

Ambrose and I remained in the ring, me leaning forward on the ropes facing the back exit, him lurking somewhere behind me. I started when I felt an arm sling itself across my shoulders.

"Let's go get you a car, huh?"

There were three car dealerships I'd wanted to look at: Jeep, Toyota, and Chevy. I had so little money to burn, I needed to be thrifty - getting a car on lease didn't mean I could get a Maserati.

During the time spent in first two dealerships, Ambrose had lurked in the background, peering through tinted windows in the display rooms like a bored child, prizing open the floor model car doors and pressing every conceivable button he could find. It was agonizing. He seemed to be purposefully trying to mess with me.

I let out a groan, watching him at a distance.

"Hey. Let's just go to the Jeep place on Augusta, I think I just want to get a Wrangler. I don't like any of these."

He perked up. "Finally."

Once there, we both hopped out of his Chevy, making our way to the showroom. I saw the one I wanted, the Wrangler, out in their lot.

"That's it, that's the one I want." I pointed towards it. "In black too, perfect." I grinned.

He looked down at me, smiling. "Let's go get little Ivy her car, then." He stopped for a moment, thinking."Wait. Follow my lead on this one."

"Oh god." I murmured out of his earshot, thinking that if I was following him anywhere, it would be into hell, and probably not of my own volition. I inexplicably nodded.

We walked in, Ambrose a couple steps ahead, seeking out a salesman. One wandered over towards us, smiling expectantly up at Ambrose.

"Good afternoon, sir," the salesman began, completely ignoring me in favor of the tall, dirty-blond next to me. "How can I help you today?"

"Yes, my wife and I," he began, gesturing between us.

I froze, turning to give him a 'what the fuck?' glare, but he was studiously avoiding my eyes, "are interested in the Wrangler in black on your lot. Aren't we, honey?"

He turned to me, clasping my hands between his warm palms, his blue eyes glittering. I wasn't going to say a word. I wanted that fucking car and needed the whole transaction to be done, already. I levelled his gaze, looking up at him with what I hoped looked something like marital bliss. It always seemed like he was two steps ahead with his mind games, and I could only wonder what his end goal was.

* * *

Evening. 4 September, 2012.  
Winter Park, FL.

Ambrose's music had already hit, and from behind the curtain I could see him pacing in the ring, rolling his shoulders and clenching his fists. It occurred to me that there was very little room between his ring persona and his real personality, it all seemed a jumble of emotion running white-hot coupled with indecipherable mind games.

Behind the curtain, Seth looked over at me with a grin, clad in his black trunks and his long hair sticking to his neck and chest, soaking wet. I was wearing a short, tight black skirt coupled with a tight blue v-neck; slightly more revealing than anything I usually wore, and paired with heels. My hair was down, for once, set in neat Hollywood waves, cascading down one shoulder, and my makeup carefully done by NXT's resident makeup artist.

Rollins's theme hit, and I heard the booming commentary of the ring announcer declaring our names and stats over the mixed crowd reaction. Seth was striding to the ring, his heel persona in full swing, strap slung over one shoulder. As practised, I was pacing steadily beside him and fixing my gaze on the ring, a bored look levelled on my face.

I could hear the commentary table discussing me, noting my role as valet, adding that I was here to observe all the talent that NXT had to offer and assist my "good friend Seth Rollins" in maintaining his title.

Seth hopped up onto the apron, handing his belt to the referee before idly circling Ambrose, staring down him down. I was to stay outside the ring, cheer on Rollins and whip the crowd into a frenzy against him, reenforcing both of our heel personas.

As the match drew to a close, I was hyper-aware of getting the timing perfect; messing this up on my debut could be disastrous.

I saw my cue, jumping swiftly onto the apron, watching as Ambrose hit Rollins with the lariat.

I felt time slow to an almost-halt, the deafening noise of the crowd seeming to mute. Ambrose locked eyes with me from the other side of the ring, getting to his feet.

He stalked over to me, hair mussed, chest damp with sweat, eyes wild.

I leant forward to grab him, to hold him so Seth could hit him with the enzuigiri.

Instead, as he got within reaching distance, he gripped my face on either side firmly in both hands and pressed a deep, searching kiss to my mouth. His warm tongue pushed between my lips and ran across my upper teeth, probing my mouth and seeking out my tongue.

I choked back a gasp, pushing my hands against his chest; in that moment, all I could think was this was _not at all_ what we had planned; terrified that we'd be penalized for not sticking to the script.

I could hear the commentary howling, and the deafening brays of the crowd reaching a fever pitch.

Drawing back, I forcibly removed his hands from my face, drew back my hand and slapped him hard across the face.

I could feel the fury radiating off him in waves, deep blue eyes bearing down on me, still mere inches from my face. His lowered hands were clenching and unclenching like he was trying to regain a modicum of control.

I wasn't even going to try to calm him, though, feeling like it was past due I stopped falling into his little mind-game traps, especially ones which might affect my job.

I gave him a hard shove in the centre of his chest, forcing him backwards, shooting him a spiteful grin for flair.

Seth, now on his feet, hit Ambrose from behind, laying him out with the enzuigiri and swiftly landing the curb stomp in a fluid motion.

I ducked into the ring, stepping over Ambrose's laid out body, taking a microphone from a ringside technician.

Giving a smug smile to the jeering audience, I began informing them that if this was the number 1 contender for the NXT title, I dreaded to see what the diva's division had to offer.

"Paige," I continued, drawing out her name and keeping a level tone, "I kinda doubt you're anywhere _near _the level of me, and I think once I get that belt off you, you won't ever be getting it back."

Paige's music hit, and I whipped around to be hit with the Lou Thesz Press, falling backward hard. I grimaced as I felt Paige's fists raining down, restrained as they were. She grabbed the fallen microphone, standing over me.

"Ivy Adams, if you wanted to challenge me, all you had to do was _ask_. I'm not afraid of a little competition, unlike some people -" she waved a hand towards Seth, who was standing behind me, "and next week I'd be happy to take you on. Not for a title shot, mind you, but just to show you how much _better_ I am than you." She dropped the microphone to rowdy cheers, giving a pleased grin to the audience before sliding out of the ring and sauntering backstage.

I took my time leaving the ring, trying to quell my rising fury with Ambrose. Paige may have played her part well, but I was dreading the residual fallout from his little stunt.

Retreating backstage, I stepped through the curtain, adjusting my rumpled clothing and glancing around with mounting worry. I could see Triple H, intently observing a monitor with headphones around his neck as the taping's closing music was piped into the arena. He looked me over, beckoning me towards him.

"Nice work, Ivy. Really convincing anger, and looked like Ambrose took that slap well. All set with your match against Paige next week?" He glanced over at Paige, who was half-leaning against the bank of monitors displaying the ring and sucking down a bottle of water with alarming force.

My flustered brain barely registered what he was saying, all I could respond with was a quick affirmative, and an assurance that we had everything sorted.

The crowd noise out front had lulled, people were leaving, and I had retreated further backstage, pacing outside the locker rooms. Ambrose must have planned all of this, from changing my match with Paige to next week, to making sure I interfered.

But for what end? I supposed it meant our storylines were now connected, and we'd probably be seeing more of each other… but if he'd wanted to make out with me, he could have done that a month ago. None of it made any fucking sense.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see Rollins give me a little shrug.

"For the record, I didn't think he'd do that."

"He went too far." I agreed.

"To be fair to him, you're the only girl he's liked in a long time." Rollins added, looking pensive. "And he has funny ways of showing affection."

"Oh." I replied, dumbly. I tried to imagine him planning all this with the benefit of me liking him, and being met with my total fury. I'd been assuming he was just fucking with me; from the almost-kiss last month at my party, to seeking me out with the script changes, the car showroom incident, and now this? All just oddly-shown affection? I just couldn't buy it.

I walked into the women's locker room, seeing Paige getting back into her regular clothes and hearing my phone dinging incessantly from its spot above my nook. A couple from Sami, and a whole ton in the group chat which seemed to be deeply engaged in the eternal question of HBK v. Bret Hart. I shot off a quick 'Bret Hart' and closed the app.

I swiped over to the message from Sami, who was asking what I was doing tonight.

_Nothing, headed home. You?_

_At home. Come over._

Thinking that if I stayed home alone I'd just brood on the events of the day and over-analyze it to death, I quickly agreed, telling him I'd meet him there in a few.

Grabbing my gear, I walked out of the back exit, careful to avoid Ambrose, and hurried straight for my car.

I got to Sami's place in such record time that I took a second to just sit behind the wheel of my Wrangler, parked outside his apartment on Court Ave. My pounding heart had calmed considerably since leaving the performance centre, and I was inexplicably glad I hadn't sought out Ambrose and reamed him for pulling that shit on me.

I climbed out, grabbing my backpack. Sami's building was about as nice as mine, but his apartment was slightly bigger and he had a gigantic balcony that was the perfect place to hang out on to look out on the city.

I knocked loudly a couple times on his door, waiting.

A slightly dishevelled, sleepy-looking Sami answered after a couple minutes, yawning softly and shutting the door behind me.

"Napping?" I asked with a grin. He looked very cute all mussed up, his boxers riding low and wearing a rumpled old t-shirt.

"Yeah." He grumbled. "Come on." He took my hand, leading me back towards his bedroom. I'd been here more than a few times in the past month, mostly to play video games with him, Paige and Seth, but I'd never seen his bedroom.

The room was dark, his duvet bunched haphazardly over the bed, pillows strewn around.

"Come on." He repeated, lowering himself down onto the mattress, still holding my hand. I followed his lead, rolling down onto the bed and laying down slowly beside him.

His back against me, I watched the slow rise and fall of his body. Our hands still entwined, I gave his a little squeeze. Sami rolled over, sleepy eyes observing me.

"Hmm." He murmured. "Nice to have you in my bed." He added, sleepily.

I felt a tightening coil of anticipation in my stomach, thinking maybe, maybe I should make my move. I'd thought Sami was pretty much perfect since we'd met on the plane all those months ago, but it'd never felt like the right time, and I'd never really felt sure that he felt the same way about me. Ruining a friendship when I wasn't sure he thought of me in that way was not something I wanted to try.

I let go of his hand, shifting my body closer to his on the bed so our legs were touching, my chest pressed against him. His eyes widened slightly, his body suddenly seeming more alert.

I gently brushed my lips against his, curling a hand around the back of his head to draw him closer to me. He responded immediately, grasping my waist with both hands and tugging me over so I was laying fully on top of him.

Sami let out a low groan into my mouth, tightening his grip on my waist. He tasted like coffee, coupled with something sweet, his tongue very gently probing my mouth. After the event with Ambrose, they felt worlds apart in technique. Sami was soft, slow. Ambrose was all teeth and fury.

He stopped, opening his eyes and staring up at me, then moved his hands downwards to peel up my shirt, lifting it over my head. My untidy ponytail slipped out of its band, casting a dark curtain over both of us, and he lifted us both as he sat up to take off his own shirt.

In the dark I could see his eyes watching me intently, fully awake now. "Essie. I like you." He sounded so serious.

"I like you too, Sami," I teased, "I thought you were cute the day we met."

He huffed a little laugh and rolled us backwards, settling between my thighs and leaning over me. He was clad only in his boxer shorts, I was still in jeans and a bra.

His hands worked their way down, undoing the button on my jeans and tugging them past my ass, bringing my underwear with them. He tossed them to the floor, and set to unclasping my bra and shucking his own boxer shorts.

With my jeans off and his boxers removed, I could feel his warm, thick erection pressed against my stomach as he lay between my legs, and I moved a hand to encircle it, giving it a firm tug. He groaned, pressing his face into the nook of my neck, brushing his lips against the skin there.

"Wait, wait." Sami said, quickly, lifting himself off me slightly. "Hold on."

Suddenly worried that he was rethinking this all and we'd be doomed to awkward friendship forever, I paused.

He lifted me ably by the waist, depositing me at the head of his bed in an upright position, then moved down slightly on the bed, settling himself between my thighs, his face inches from my bare pussy. He brushed a finger slowly down the outside folds and I shivered slightly, feeling very ready and very wet.

Sami lifted his gaze to mine, a wide grin on his face, before lowering it entirely and gently licking the length of my pussy, from the bottom cleft to the clit.

I groaned, grinding my pussy slowly against his face and driving my fingers into his short hair as he continued to move his tongue against me, pushing a finger inside and tucking it upwards and inwards. He continued, fervently, fucking me with his fingers and swiping his tongue over my clit, pausing to glance upwards at me with a little smile playing on his lips.

I came slowly, a drawn-out orgasm that made my head swim with intensity, clenching around his fingers.

"How was that?" He withdrew his fingers and gave me a cheeky smile.

"Wow." I replied, completely out of breath and suddenly sleepy. "Yeah, that was something else." I leaned forward to catch his lips with mine, tasting myself on his mouth.

"Mmm." He murmured, pushing me back onto the bed so he was nestled behind me, and curling a protective arm around me. "Now we can nap."

* * *

Looking for a beta! Please message me on here. c: Reviews, especially concerning the decision of Sami v Dean are VERY welcome.


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